Growing up, there were a finite number of video tapes in our house. We didn't even have all that many, but it's like at a certain point we just stopped buying them, or bothering to record free HBO weekends. What this meant, then, is that my sister and I had seen everything we owned literally dozens of times, and could (and probably still can) quote most of them from start to finish. The brain's capacity for dialogue (and song lyrics!) is truly staggering, isn't it?
One of our favorites was the 1992 Cameron Crowe classic Singles, which while on the surface may seem to be your run-of-the-mill ensemble cast non-story about a bunch of 20-somethings looking for love in grunge-era Seattle, I'd argue that the film is notable not only for cameo appearances by some of the period's most influential figures--Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder, and Tim Burton, to name but a few--but also for its genuine insight into the way people value themselves, and how that translates in their day-to-day interactions.
The movie is also eminently quotable, and one that has really resonated with me through the last 18 years (ZOMG) is a scene in which Campbell Scott asks Bridget Fonda what it is women really want from a guy. She replies:
Well, when I first moved out here, I wanted a guy with looks, security, caring...someone with their own place, someone who said "bless you" or "gesundheit" when I sneezed...someone who liked the same things as me, but not exactly...and someone who loves me.
He's all "Wow, that's a lot!" and she's all "Yeah, I've scaled back a little," and he's like, "So what's the list now?" and the answer:
Someone who says "gesundheit."
I feel like I've had pretty much the exact same conversation with myself over the last year or two, but regarding my job, not men (in that arena, as you might imagine, I have unwaveringly maintained the highest of standards). If you'd asked me a couple of years ago where I wanted to be in five years, I'd probably have said something like, "Well, I'd like a job in academia. Ideally, I'll be tenure track faculty somewhere, either at an R1 university or a prestigious liberal arts college. Either way, the students will be super smart. And it'll be in or near a really cool city, hopefully in the Northeast. And I'll be doing some teaching, but not too much teaching, and I'll have a perfectly small-to-medium-sized lab where we take an interdisciplinary and elegant approach to answering timely and clinically relevant questions. Etc!"
But had you asked me again, say, 6 months ago, my answer would have been more like, "Well, I'd like a job." The unscored K99 made me seriously re-evaluate my place in the TT applicant pool, and like Bridget Fonda, I lowered my standards. I applied EVERYWHERE, including many places that didn't at all fit my dream job description, and even started browsing job ads for non-academic positions. Now, there are of course good reasons for doing this anyway, like experience and leverage and maybe-I'll-be-surprised-by-how-much-I-like-southwestern-Idaho, but if I'm being honest, it was at least in part out of feelings of desperation.
I HATE feelings of desperation!
Well, there's nothing like a couple of good meetings to show feelings of desperation the door, and I came back from two last month thinking to myself, Did I actually allow myself to entertain the possibility of a job in publishing? We can DO this! (that's the royal "we," which I've found is also quite useful re: self-esteem.)
More concretely, I've been invited to apply for a grant from a Private Foundation, which would fund two years of work with Famous Dude. I wrote the proposal, and it pleased Famous Dude. Things are moving along. I'm not letting myself get too excited, but I like to think of things as "definitely not not happening." If it all works out, my stock should rise significantly. And in anticipation, my standards have begun to creep up as well.
The Plight of the Post-Doc
Showing posts with label meetings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meetings. Show all posts
7.05.2010
6.19.2010
OMG NIH WTF?
There are many beautiful features of NYC that inspire feelings of awe and wonder in me; the Brooklyn Bridge, the view of midtown from the north side of the Central Park Reservoir, and the bourbon wall at Char No. 4 in Carroll Gardens are a few examples. But on the rare occasions that I get out to the mountains, it’s a whole other kind of awe. America is so pretty sometimes!
Investigators who have more than 5 years of postdoctoral research training experience at the time of initial application or subsequent resubmission(s) are not eligible.
Look, I know this post reeks of sour grapes, and I know that life isn't fair, and that complaining rarely achieves much beyond annoying the people listening to you (sorry guys!). But sometimes you just gotta vent, and I mean, isn't that what the interwebz are for?
So I was out in the mountains this week for a small meeting, the focus of which was about as close as you can get to my exact specific interests. It was so awesome. So much nature-y and science-y goodness! Plus, I knew a ton of folks there—some friends from grad school, some acquaintances I’d met at previous meetings over the years—I felt like I was with my people, you know?
I learned so much and had so many great conversations, and I’m returning to New York just bursting with ideas for experiments. It’s a nice feeling to want to get back to lab. I also learned something VERY INTERESTING from my roommate re: the flexibility of NIH funding policies.
As we were introducing ourselves and getting to know each other, I mentioned that I’d unsuccessfully applied for a K99 award. When she asked me whether I’d resubmitted, I lamented that by the time the following due date rolled around, I’d passed the 5-year postdoc mark, making me ineligible.
“Oh no,” she said, “a guy in my lab was in the exact same boat as you with an unscored proposal and had passed the 5-year mark as well. But he appealed to be allowed to resubmit on the grounds that he’d started the process before the 5-year mark, and they let him and it got funded!”
Well! I’m sure you can imagine my response to that!
Well! I’m sure you can imagine my response to that!
I mean, WTF, NIH? It explicitly says in the K99-R00 FAQ that
I might be crazy, but what this suggests to me is that you cannot resubmit if you have over 5 years post-doc experience? I’m of course totally happy for this guy who found a way to make it all happen, but obviously if I’d thought there was any wiggle room in what is an exceptionally straightforward rule of eligibility, I’d have done the same thing! There are many instances where a well-argued appeal makes sense, but I feel like in this case, it should either be a rule or not, you know?
6.10.2010
Does your PI do your PR?
In case "PR" has some scientific meaning that's either not occurring to me or is relevant only in fields with which I'm not well-acquainted, I'm talking about Public Relations, here. I've been thinking about this a lot, lately--the role of the PI in "advertising" his or her trainee, especially when the trainee is getting close to the next phase, be it grad student to post-doc, or post-doc to junior faculty. I mean, it's in everyone's best interest for us to move onward and upward, right? So why aren't they all selling the shit out of us? Or if you're a PI, why aren't you selling the shit out of your trainees? Or are you?
I'm not talking about writing letters of recommendation, here; everyone does that. What I mean is, what extra things is your PI doing to show the world how great you are? Or is this not happening? And how do you feel about that? This is an essay question, to be answered in the comments by both trainees and PIs alike.
A couple of recent experiences have made me hyper-aware of this phenomenon. First, I was at a small symposium in the city a couple of weeks ago. Four really great talks, including one by my PI and one by a very famous collaborator dude (VFCD--different from the new Famous Dude I may work with soon). My PI didn't present my work, but VFCD did. And right before VFCD presented my work, he said, "this is the work of Dr Becca, who is over there (he points, I wave bashfully) and what she did that was really monumental was..." I mean, he actually said "monumental," which I thought was really nice of him. I don't even know if I'd consider my work monumental, but it made me feel really good that he'd promote me like that. Moreover, he deferred to me to answer any relevant questions after the talk, and not because he couldn't have answered them himself--VFCD is a bona fide brilliant person who has the mind-blowing ability to remember every tiny bit of data you've ever mentioned to him in the hallway or whatever. So that was all really great. I felt like I was being treated like an adult, having adult scientist conversations with other adult scientists, and I was so grateful to VFCD for that.
More recently, I was at a meeting in the Midwestern US (OMG $2.75 for Maker's Mark??!!??!). During one of the talks, the speaker said, "this is the work of my post-doc ____, who is here at this meeting," and she showed a picture of this post-doc, which she continued to show a couple more times as she went through the data. I saw this and thought, That is so smart and great! Now people don't have to remember her name--they can just remember her face! And then they'll recognize her at future meetings, rather than having to randomly check her name tag and try and remember where they heard the name. I am so doing this when I am a PI. Every time.
These truly small-in-effort gestures are, I think, really important for trainees. While in the long run, we of course will (and should) bear the primary burden for promoting ourselves, you never know what a two-second mention, a photo, or a casual "monumental" here or there can really do for a person.
I'm not talking about writing letters of recommendation, here; everyone does that. What I mean is, what extra things is your PI doing to show the world how great you are? Or is this not happening? And how do you feel about that? This is an essay question, to be answered in the comments by both trainees and PIs alike.
A couple of recent experiences have made me hyper-aware of this phenomenon. First, I was at a small symposium in the city a couple of weeks ago. Four really great talks, including one by my PI and one by a very famous collaborator dude (VFCD--different from the new Famous Dude I may work with soon). My PI didn't present my work, but VFCD did. And right before VFCD presented my work, he said, "this is the work of Dr Becca, who is over there (he points, I wave bashfully) and what she did that was really monumental was..." I mean, he actually said "monumental," which I thought was really nice of him. I don't even know if I'd consider my work monumental, but it made me feel really good that he'd promote me like that. Moreover, he deferred to me to answer any relevant questions after the talk, and not because he couldn't have answered them himself--VFCD is a bona fide brilliant person who has the mind-blowing ability to remember every tiny bit of data you've ever mentioned to him in the hallway or whatever. So that was all really great. I felt like I was being treated like an adult, having adult scientist conversations with other adult scientists, and I was so grateful to VFCD for that.
More recently, I was at a meeting in the Midwestern US (OMG $2.75 for Maker's Mark??!!??!). During one of the talks, the speaker said, "this is the work of my post-doc ____, who is here at this meeting," and she showed a picture of this post-doc, which she continued to show a couple more times as she went through the data. I saw this and thought, That is so smart and great! Now people don't have to remember her name--they can just remember her face! And then they'll recognize her at future meetings, rather than having to randomly check her name tag and try and remember where they heard the name. I am so doing this when I am a PI. Every time.
These truly small-in-effort gestures are, I think, really important for trainees. While in the long run, we of course will (and should) bear the primary burden for promoting ourselves, you never know what a two-second mention, a photo, or a casual "monumental" here or there can really do for a person.
6.02.2010
Come on, get happy!
Arg, again I am a day late for the Scientiae Carnival, but I'm doing a post anyhow, dammit! This month's theme is celebration, and it's a great way to start the summer. I feel like we so often focus on the trials and tribulations of being scientists (and with good reason, as the trials and tribulations of scientists are many) that we often forget (or worse, are afraid/ashamed) to allow ourselves a little joy when things go well. So, what do I have to be happy about?
When we last checked in with each other, I was reeling from the realization that I'd soon have to leave my lab and struggling against a bizarre but deep-rooted discomfort with success. Since then, I've been working hard to get a plan together for September, and it's actually all been kind of......awesome.
The obvious choice for a new lab is a Famous Dude at a different NYC institution with whom I've recently done a little collaboration. I met him in his office a couple of weeks ago and said, "I'd really like to continue the work I did with you last year, studying the effects of A on measure B, with a general focus on brain region C." He said, "Well, A might be OK, but we don't really do measure B anymore, and I'm not all that interested in brain region C." At that, both my jaw and heart dropped what felt like a mile. But before the waterworks could begin, he went on: "Look, the lab is pretty full, but I'd like to help you out. Why don't you try to come up with some ideas of things you'd like to do that fit within the current focus of the lab, and we can talk again in a week or two?"
Believe it or not, at first I was devastated. The thought of having to leave my pet project--my pet brain region, even--behind made me super sad. I mean, what if someone else did the experiments while I was off being unfaithful, messing around with brain region D? MY experiments? It was then that I realized how head-over-heels in love I'd been with my own ideas, and how monumentally stupid that was (more on this in a future post, probably). I got a grip and said to myself, "Self, we have a chance to work with Famous Dude, who pretty much sneezes Glamour Mag pubs. Let's think of some sexy new experiments and make it happen!"
So I had some thoughts and I wrote them up in a little 1-page specific aim-type proposal, which I nervously sent off to Famous Dude one Sunday evening. He got back to me within the hour with a response that included the expression "home run." Not to brag or anything!
Now of course, nothing is set in stone (there are, as always, money issues) and thus part of me thinks we shouldn't dare start celebrating just yet. But another part of me says, you know what? Go ahead and bask in the glow of that tiny bit of validation--heaven knows we don't get that too often.
So as things progress on this front, I'm allowing myself to feel cautiously optimistic.
In the meantime, I'm headed to two meetings this month to present some cool new data. I finished my poster last night, and as is customary in the Dr Becca household, I made myself a cocktail in celebration. It's called a Bijou, and it may be the most delicious potable on earth. Equal parts gin, sweet vermouth, and green Chartreuse, stirred with ice until very cold and then strained into a cocktail glass, it is elegant, balanced, and the perfect accompaniment to just about anything. Garnish with a homemade brandied cherry if you like (I like).
When we last checked in with each other, I was reeling from the realization that I'd soon have to leave my lab and struggling against a bizarre but deep-rooted discomfort with success. Since then, I've been working hard to get a plan together for September, and it's actually all been kind of......awesome.
The obvious choice for a new lab is a Famous Dude at a different NYC institution with whom I've recently done a little collaboration. I met him in his office a couple of weeks ago and said, "I'd really like to continue the work I did with you last year, studying the effects of A on measure B, with a general focus on brain region C." He said, "Well, A might be OK, but we don't really do measure B anymore, and I'm not all that interested in brain region C." At that, both my jaw and heart dropped what felt like a mile. But before the waterworks could begin, he went on: "Look, the lab is pretty full, but I'd like to help you out. Why don't you try to come up with some ideas of things you'd like to do that fit within the current focus of the lab, and we can talk again in a week or two?"
Believe it or not, at first I was devastated. The thought of having to leave my pet project--my pet brain region, even--behind made me super sad. I mean, what if someone else did the experiments while I was off being unfaithful, messing around with brain region D? MY experiments? It was then that I realized how head-over-heels in love I'd been with my own ideas, and how monumentally stupid that was (more on this in a future post, probably). I got a grip and said to myself, "Self, we have a chance to work with Famous Dude, who pretty much sneezes Glamour Mag pubs. Let's think of some sexy new experiments and make it happen!"
So I had some thoughts and I wrote them up in a little 1-page specific aim-type proposal, which I nervously sent off to Famous Dude one Sunday evening. He got back to me within the hour with a response that included the expression "home run." Not to brag or anything!
Now of course, nothing is set in stone (there are, as always, money issues) and thus part of me thinks we shouldn't dare start celebrating just yet. But another part of me says, you know what? Go ahead and bask in the glow of that tiny bit of validation--heaven knows we don't get that too often.
So as things progress on this front, I'm allowing myself to feel cautiously optimistic.
In the meantime, I'm headed to two meetings this month to present some cool new data. I finished my poster last night, and as is customary in the Dr Becca household, I made myself a cocktail in celebration. It's called a Bijou, and it may be the most delicious potable on earth. Equal parts gin, sweet vermouth, and green Chartreuse, stirred with ice until very cold and then strained into a cocktail glass, it is elegant, balanced, and the perfect accompaniment to just about anything. Garnish with a homemade brandied cherry if you like (I like).
Cheers!
PS: Lots of other current events of note, but I think trying to squeeze it all into a single post may be ill-advised. Stay tuned...
4.28.2010
Notes from Experimental Biology
I think it's safe to say that I've probably eaten more Baja Fresh in a 30-hr period than any normal-sized person ever should. But it was that or Sbarro, so... .
Anyway, carnitas overdose aside, I had a very nice trip to Anaheim. When I wasn't compulsively checking the PC-compatibility of my Mac-designed presentation or arguing with my circadian clock about what time it was, I bounced around the exhibits and talks, spending a solid amount of time in the Career Resources Center. And I gotta say, the EB CRC kicked the SfN CRC's ass so much it wasn't even funny! There were at least 3 or 4 workshops going on at any given time between 8 am and 4 pm, plus a job board, plus a private area for interviews, plus people who would critique your CV. In addition to the expected topics like "how to write a great cover letter," "the NIH peer review process," and "how to give a dynamic talk" (hot damn was that one packed! You'd think it had never occurred to anyone to label their x- and y-axes before, the way they were all scribbling furiously), there were some unconventional (and, it should be noted, poorly attended) workshops as well.
I went to the "social media and career development" workshop because I am kind of a crazy social media junky, and was curious to hear how all of my internet friends could help me get a job. Sadly, I was not impressed. I mean, here was this guy, trying to explain Twitter to people, and he hadn't thought to put a screen shot of a Twitter feed in his presentation? People (especially in the scientific community, it seems) are absolutely clueless about what Twitter is for besides reading about what Ashton Kutcher ate for lunch, and hearing nothing but "well you see, you follow people and see their tweets, and people who follow you see your tweets" is not all that helpful.
Oh, how did my talk go? I think it went pretty well. I was a little nervous, and kept saying "channels" when I meant "receptors," but I think in general I was clear and told a good story. I'll admit, though, it was not the easiest thing in the world to present my former advisor's data. It's not that I didn't know it well enough or anything, it's just that on a certain level I couldn't own the work the way I can my own. There was a mediated discussion after all four parts of the symposium were finished, and I pretty much completely BS'd my way through my answer to what was, frankly, a not-all-that-answerable question (DrugMonkey, I truly hope you'd left by that point!)
The best part of the whole meeting, though, was a long chat I had after my talk with one of my contemporaries, a post-doc who left my lab for a second post-doc just before I arrived, and who's just accepted a TT job offer. We talked lots of science, and then some jobby stuff, about which he had some interesting things to say. First, he's currently in one of the departments that had an opening I applied to, and he said that they got 1200 applications for that position, and that the people who got interviews had 7-8 years of post-doc experience. So I'm thrilled to hear that the 7-8 year post-doc is the new 4-5 year post-doc--just like 35 is the new 25, yes? Along those lines, he also said something very wise. He said "Look, if you get a job tomorrow, it's not going to be as good as the job you'd get in a year or two." This is totally true, and made me feel significantly better about my situation. Do I want the job that awesome-ish me could get now, or the job that super-awesome me could get after a couple more fancy papers? Door number 2, please!
Finally, when I asked him how he thought I fielded that discussion question, he said "I think it was an appropriately verbose and evasive answer, given the question." Hahahaha!! I am going to be such a good scientist!!
Anyway, carnitas overdose aside, I had a very nice trip to Anaheim. When I wasn't compulsively checking the PC-compatibility of my Mac-designed presentation or arguing with my circadian clock about what time it was, I bounced around the exhibits and talks, spending a solid amount of time in the Career Resources Center. And I gotta say, the EB CRC kicked the SfN CRC's ass so much it wasn't even funny! There were at least 3 or 4 workshops going on at any given time between 8 am and 4 pm, plus a job board, plus a private area for interviews, plus people who would critique your CV. In addition to the expected topics like "how to write a great cover letter," "the NIH peer review process," and "how to give a dynamic talk" (hot damn was that one packed! You'd think it had never occurred to anyone to label their x- and y-axes before, the way they were all scribbling furiously), there were some unconventional (and, it should be noted, poorly attended) workshops as well.
I went to the "social media and career development" workshop because I am kind of a crazy social media junky, and was curious to hear how all of my internet friends could help me get a job. Sadly, I was not impressed. I mean, here was this guy, trying to explain Twitter to people, and he hadn't thought to put a screen shot of a Twitter feed in his presentation? People (especially in the scientific community, it seems) are absolutely clueless about what Twitter is for besides reading about what Ashton Kutcher ate for lunch, and hearing nothing but "well you see, you follow people and see their tweets, and people who follow you see your tweets" is not all that helpful.
Oh, how did my talk go? I think it went pretty well. I was a little nervous, and kept saying "channels" when I meant "receptors," but I think in general I was clear and told a good story. I'll admit, though, it was not the easiest thing in the world to present my former advisor's data. It's not that I didn't know it well enough or anything, it's just that on a certain level I couldn't own the work the way I can my own. There was a mediated discussion after all four parts of the symposium were finished, and I pretty much completely BS'd my way through my answer to what was, frankly, a not-all-that-answerable question (DrugMonkey, I truly hope you'd left by that point!)
The best part of the whole meeting, though, was a long chat I had after my talk with one of my contemporaries, a post-doc who left my lab for a second post-doc just before I arrived, and who's just accepted a TT job offer. We talked lots of science, and then some jobby stuff, about which he had some interesting things to say. First, he's currently in one of the departments that had an opening I applied to, and he said that they got 1200 applications for that position, and that the people who got interviews had 7-8 years of post-doc experience. So I'm thrilled to hear that the 7-8 year post-doc is the new 4-5 year post-doc--just like 35 is the new 25, yes? Along those lines, he also said something very wise. He said "Look, if you get a job tomorrow, it's not going to be as good as the job you'd get in a year or two." This is totally true, and made me feel significantly better about my situation. Do I want the job that awesome-ish me could get now, or the job that super-awesome me could get after a couple more fancy papers? Door number 2, please!
Finally, when I asked him how he thought I fielded that discussion question, he said "I think it was an appropriately verbose and evasive answer, given the question." Hahahaha!! I am going to be such a good scientist!!
3.28.2010
When life becomes an After-School Special
You know the scene.
It's The Big Game. Our protagonist sits on the sidelines in street clothes, a deflated look on her face. Though she trained all season with the team--countless times up and down the bleacher stairs, suicide drills until her thighs cried out in agony, and damn but all those practice penalty kicks/free throws/etc--she didn't make the cut for the championship this year. Late in the final quarter or half or whatever, the game's tied. Suddenly, the home team's star player is down! Her ankle is twisted; there's no way she can keep playing. The coach turns to our protagonist. "Hey!" he says, tossing her a spare jersey. "You're in. Go get changed." A smile, followed by a look of intense determination appears on her face, and she dashes for the locker room.
Yesterday I got an email from my thesis advisor that read, "I'm meant to give a talk on Your Area of Research, Broadly Defined at upcoming Giant Meeting, but I've hurt my leg and can't travel. Would you like to give it for me?" (I am not even kidding, she really hurt her leg. It is too much!!!) Naturally I replied, "YES! YES! YES! Oh, and sorry about your leg!" She promised to send me her PowerPoint, to which I could add some of my recent relevant data.
I am really excited about this, folks. I feel like it's my Big Moment. I checked out the meeting program, and I'll be following one of the country's absolute top people re: My Area of Research, Broadly Defined. It's scary, but also an amazing chance for me to really strut my stuff and get my name out there.
And so, we all know what happens next, right? Seconds are left on the clock. Without warning, our protagonist finds the ball in her hands/at her feet/against her field hockey stick, with no one between her and the basket/goal. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and just as the buzzer/whistle goes.....
SCORE!!!!!!!!
It's The Big Game. Our protagonist sits on the sidelines in street clothes, a deflated look on her face. Though she trained all season with the team--countless times up and down the bleacher stairs, suicide drills until her thighs cried out in agony, and damn but all those practice penalty kicks/free throws/etc--she didn't make the cut for the championship this year. Late in the final quarter or half or whatever, the game's tied. Suddenly, the home team's star player is down! Her ankle is twisted; there's no way she can keep playing. The coach turns to our protagonist. "Hey!" he says, tossing her a spare jersey. "You're in. Go get changed." A smile, followed by a look of intense determination appears on her face, and she dashes for the locker room.
Yesterday I got an email from my thesis advisor that read, "I'm meant to give a talk on Your Area of Research, Broadly Defined at upcoming Giant Meeting, but I've hurt my leg and can't travel. Would you like to give it for me?" (I am not even kidding, she really hurt her leg. It is too much!!!) Naturally I replied, "YES! YES! YES! Oh, and sorry about your leg!" She promised to send me her PowerPoint, to which I could add some of my recent relevant data.
I am really excited about this, folks. I feel like it's my Big Moment. I checked out the meeting program, and I'll be following one of the country's absolute top people re: My Area of Research, Broadly Defined. It's scary, but also an amazing chance for me to really strut my stuff and get my name out there.
And so, we all know what happens next, right? Seconds are left on the clock. Without warning, our protagonist finds the ball in her hands/at her feet/against her field hockey stick, with no one between her and the basket/goal. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and just as the buzzer/whistle goes.....
SCORE!!!!!!!!
